


A Sinner's Prayer

by skyjoos



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Religious, Angst, Bible Quotes, Child Abuse, Christianity, Dark, Dark Tony Stark, Foreshadowing, Gaslighting, M/M, Non-believer Peter Parker, Oneshot, Pastor Tony Stark, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religion, Religious Conversion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyjoos/pseuds/skyjoos
Summary: Sixteen year old Peter Parker is forced to attend a father figure group therapy eight months after his uncle is killed. To his dismay, his father figure is Tony Stark, pastor of Our Unity Fellowship of Christ. Pastor Stark shows non-believer Peter that his faith can heal the boy's wounds and also open new ones.This fic was inspired by a prompt from CaptiveInMyKiss on my collection of hurt Peter whumps, 'Darkness Lives Here.' It's since been edited and refined for a full stand alone release.





	A Sinner's Prayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptiveInMyKiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptiveInMyKiss/gifts).



I can’t believe May would make me go to therapy again. As if the last therapist wasn’t enough proof for her that I can’t connect with people who only want to get inside my head for a paycheck. She shoved the flyer in my face one morning before school. Colorful words spread across the sheet read, ‘Father Figure Therapy at Our Unity Fellowship of Christ’. A type of therapy designed to bring in kids who don’t have fathers or have lost one. I promised her I would go, if only to appease her and end her constant attempts at getting me to go back to therapy. Now I’m seated in a small lobby decorated with children’s toys and posters promoting healthy habits that include brushing your teeth everyday and washing your hands before every meal. A large crucifix hangs above the door leading to what I assume is the office.

A short, plump woman with dyed red hair and rosy cheeks enters the lobby and notices I’m the only person seated in the plastic chairs. She eyes me and she’s probably thinking I’m a homeless kid trespassing in a church’s children’s waiting area. She’s not a nun because she’s wearing mom jeans and open toed shoes. She’s probably a manager here or a clergymen’s wife. She walks towards me and leans down to meet my gaze. I hate when adults look down on me so I stand up. She keeps her smile while I return a calculated stare. 

“Hi sweetheart,” she says in a thick Jersey accent. “I’m Mrs. Mayfield. Are you here for the Father Figure meeting?”

Do I scream orphaned teen or something? I want to leave and tell her I’m just lost but I sheepishly nod. She only smiles back and I get the sudden urge to vomit. Churches smell like stale wafers and off-brand medicine. She’s messing with her fake hair, tucking it behind her ear when she begins to laugh. 

“You don’t need to wait out here for that, honey. You can just slide right on in the room once it starts. Here, I’ll show you where it’s at.”

She’s too jolly of a person to organize events at a church. Maybe they’re all like that, though. You wouldn’t want a boring hag running things at an establishment of God. But I can’t see how having someone as upbeat as her would benefit them either. I follow her as she walks out of the children’s wing and into a dark hallway. I don’t go to church and this is probably the first time I’ve been to one since my baptism when I was an infant. 

My mom and dad were Christians, according to Aunt May. Uncle Ben used to be before the war, too. I don’t press her on it because she swears up and down that faith isn’t her forte. ‘Nothing good comes from faith, Peter,’ she told me. ‘Mary and Rick were total believers, and they died. Uncle Ben was a follower and he was shipped to Afghanistan, and … Well, you know the rest.’ 

Ben died in Afghanistan last year. Aunt May still doesn’t like to talk about it. She cried on Memorial Day and wouldn’t talk to me on his birthday last month. He died eight months ago and it still hurts her. Uncle Ben was my father figure in a lot of ways and I’d be lying if I said his death didn’t hurt me, too. So, it wasn’t surprising to see May force me into yet another therapy group, but it was surprising to see she sent me to a Christian led group. 

Mrs. Mayfield makes a left at the end of the hall and heads down a flight of dirty concrete steps. At the base of the staircase, there’s a red door with a cross at the top. She must tell I’m skeptical because she turns around before opening it.

“It’s not what it seems, trust me, baby. We’re just using the basement for group events until the second floor is renovated with air conditioning. Come on in, sweetheart,” she says as she holds the door open for me.

I walk through the door and I’m greeted with a few dozen men and children crowding a small basement with a blue, stained carpet. Some are seated in wooden chairs and others are forming small circles around the room. Most kids are at the pathetic looking buffet in the corner of the room. It’s damp and crowded and smells like church and I want to leave. I turn back to look at the door but the woman is already gone. I turn back and see an older man is walking towards me and I can tell in his self centered walk that he’s a church goer. He corners me and I can’t  breathe. He smiles and wraps his arms around me and I stand flaccid in the hug.

“Hello, young man! I’m a clergymen here at Unity Fellowship of Christ. John Watson. But just call me Mr. John. What’s your name?” He beams.

I backs away from the hug but he still has his hand clasped on my shoulder and he’s smiling the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. It almost disturbs me. I think I hear my throat gurgle a bit and I have to swallow back before answering.

“I’m Peter. Uh, Peter Parker,” I manage.

John lets go of his grip and continues to beam at me. He gestures at the people around me and I follow his hand to see three middle school age kids sitting down in the middle with older men sitting next to them talking. This looks like a cult. I want to run but John is staring at me and I can’t just leave when I’m being eyed down like this.

“You’ve come a little late, Mr. Parker,” he says and I hate when adults call me by my last name. “We’ve already paired everyone up. What were ya doing, sitting around in the waiting room?”

He’s joking but that’s exactly what I was doing. I laugh with him and try to shrug it off. This wasn’t so bad. I’ll just tell May I came too late and there wasn’t any ‘fathers’ left to pair me with. I fake a smile and back away from John.

“Ah, that’s just too bad, Mr. John. I’ll be going now,” I say.

“Wait just a minute, boy!” He laughs. “Mr. Stark still hasn’t arrived yet. Traffic up on Willow Avenue, I hear. Real bad accident. God bless. Anyways, Mr. Stark just called to tell me he’ll be late. He’s been looking forward to this meeting all month and you’re a strapping young man. He’ll be happy to be paired with you. Come, come! Sit down and wait.”

John has his hand back on my shoulder and is practically pushing me to the circle of wooden seats. I comply and sit down on the rocky chair. The kid next to me, who looks like she can’t be more than seven years old, rolls her eyes and shuffles her body away from me. I can’t blame her. I’m easily the oldest kid in this room. I sigh and place my heads around my head and lean back. I don’t care who this Mr. Stark is but he’s not going to be happy to see he got paired with a sixteen year old and not an actual kid. 

I wait another ten minutes sitting in the uncomfortable chair and I’m about to leave. I don’t want to sit here in this weird, smelly church basement awkwardly avoiding the other ‘father's’ eyes any longer. John comes over again and he’s smiling the same annoying smile. 

“He’ll be here soon, child. Don’t worry. Mr. Stark is nothing but prominent and faithful. I have his word,” John tries to reassure.

Great. My future therapy dad is a crazy Christian, too. I try to fake another smile but my face is getting tired. Two fake smiles is enough for one day. I just want to go home and nap or Skype with MJ. We could talk about that test I cheated on or about her new nose piercing. Her dad was pissed about it but I think it looks cool. May hates MJ, says she’s a bad influence. But that’s coming from the woman who smokes cigarettes in front of her nephew who has asthma so not everyone in my life is exactly perfect. 

I’m contemplating leaving again when someone walks through the red door. John rushes over and is gushing at the man who looks like he’s just ran a marathon to get here. I hear my name and an ‘amen’ thrown in there and now the man who I can only assume is Mr. Stark is walking towards me. This was a dumb idea. I should’ve said no and told May to find a new shrink instead. But now Mr. Stark is standing in front of me and he’s expecting some sort of formal greeting. His hand is extended and I meet him halfway with a handshake.

“Ah, good to meet you Peter. I’m Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to be paired with you,” he says.

He’s not elderly but he’s not young. He has the faint lines of crow’s feet around his eyes and a few deepening wrinkles on his forehead. He’s a little bit taller than me and he’s dressed too nice to be in a gross church basement. He’s wearing a black dress shirt and pants and a white bowtie is pulled across his neck. I’m about to say something when I see John standing giddly besides him. I look around at the other members and see a few with plastered smiles on their faces. I turn back and Tony is smiling at me. Suddenly, John is speaking and confirming my worst nightmare.

“Mr. Parker, this is Pastor Tony Stark. Unity Fellowship’s own leader. He’s really excited to meet you!”

“I’m so sorry for the wait. I try to be as timely as possible but God isn’t always permitting,” Tony jokes.

I want to crawl into the earth and never return. How could this get any more awkward? I’m not religious by any means and I’m being paired with the pastor of all people. I just nod my head and John leaves us. Tony’s staring at me and I’m staring back and I should just go. This is stupid anyway, May will understand. 

“I have to be frank, Peter. I’m not very good with kids. So I was actually relieved to see I got paired up with an older boy. I hope you take no offense.”

What should I say? I’m glad he doesn’t want a little kid but isn’t it more awkward this way? I’m sixteen, I shouldn’t need a substitute dad. I’m already starting to feel weird so I sit back down and Tony is following me to the wooden seat besides me. I look straight ahead. I know I should talk to the man that is taking the time out of his day to ‘counsel’ me, but what does one say to a pastor? I don’t do religious stuff. Why couldn’t it have been anyone else?

“I can imagine this being pretty awkward,” he says. “I also take it that you’re not a follower.”

I sigh, “No. I’m sorry, I’m not.”

Hopefully he’ll get fed up and ask John to switch him with someone else because he wants to counsel a faithful boy. But he stays seated next to me and watches as I draw myself away. Why are church people so pushy? He keeps staring me down and he seems like a nice guy but his eyes are following me with pity and I feel lost. Tony sighs too and starts to fidget with his bowtie.

“I’m sorry if I’m being weird. I’m new to this, too. I was practically forced into it by Reverend John,” Tony laughs off.

“You were forced to be here, too?” I ask.

Tony nods and looks back at me. “Yeah. Not that I wouldn’t want to help children out. It’s just … hard, you know? All kids are different. Everyone has different needs and ways of learning. I thought I wouldn’t be good at it. I hope I’m not rambling, son,” Tony says.

I shake my head. This guy isn’t too bad. He’s a holy roller, sure, but he’s just as nervous as I am and he isn’t being too forward. A kid across the room starts screaming and his therapy dad is trying to console him with snacks from the buffet table. He screams again and starts crying for his  _ real  _ dad and the therapy dad’s face caves in. I’m glad I didn’t have to do this when I was young and vulnerable like that. Tony looks over and gives a sympathetic face to the man trying to carry a raging toddler out of the basement. 

“Yeah, no, I get it. But I’m not like broken or anything. I just did this so my aunt wouldn’t get upset,” I admit.

I don’t want this guy getting the wrong idea of me. I’m traumatized and maybe a little fucked up, but I’m not damaged. I’ve been through worse. Tony smiles at me and it feels nice and not weird and pervy like when the old man at the drugstore on fourth street smiles at me. I feel a strong clasp on my shoulder again and look over to see John, the same shit eating grin on his face, towering over us. 

“I’m glad we worked this out! Now that you two are acquainted, you should share contact information. The idea is that you develop a friendship. Peter, you should know that you can rely on Mr. Stark for anything. So if you need an emergency ride somewhere or need help, you can call him at any time. We meet once a week on Wednesdays after bible study down here from four to six. But we encourage meetings outside of the group! Hang out at the store, get dinner together, stuff like that. I’d love to see you joining us for Sunday mass, Peter.”

My mind is racing at every word John said. He pulls me close at the end and told me to come to church. Seriously? I can see Tony out of the corner of my eye shrug it off. John finally leaves again and Tony is pulling out his phone. I reach to grab mine and read him off my number. 

“Was he serious when he meant I could just call you? That’s kinda dumb, right? What if you’re busy or you’re at church or something?” I ask.

Tony finishes putting my number in his phone and shoves it in his pocket. “I think the whole idea of the group is for me to act like a father to you. And a father would drop anything to help his child. I understand the concept. John can be eccentric at times, is all.”

I nod. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’m sorry I’m not religious.”

I feel weird saying that. It’s not like this group is for Christians only but he’s the pastor. Tony starts to laugh.

“It’s no big deal. I’m not going to convert you or push you into it. I don’t have to believe in the Lord to be a good father figure.”

I get it. I’m nervous and kind of worried about the next meeting, but I get the idea. I nod and save his number into my phone as ‘Tony Stark.’ He isn’t so bad for a Christian. 

“Okay, good. Because I really don’t see myself coming to any masses, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs. “I can’t blame you.”

-

The rest of the week goes by without any real issues. May asks how the meeting went, I lie and tell her it went great and that there’s not even that many church people there. She smiles and tells me faith can never be trusted and goes on a spiel about God having the power to cure cancer but never doing it. I half heartedly listen because I’m texting Tony who surprisingly is really good at eight ball on iPhone games. 

That’s how he broke the awkward silence three hours after Wednesday’s meeting: Sending me an invite to the iPhone darts game. We played for a while, I lost. Then we played again and I won. And in between every game we have mini discussions. It’s kind of like a deal. Whoever loses has to talk about something personal in their life. I tried my absolute hardest to win for the first day and reluctantly told Tony about my uncle and my parents when I lost. Now it’s not so hard anymore when I lose and I have to share something. 

We’ve kept it going for five days now. The day after tomorrow will be the next meeting and I can’t help but feel nervous. We’ve told each other some pretty personal stuff. Yesterday, after Tony lost in a game of paintball, he told me that his family was killed in an accident a few years ago. He didn’t go much beyond that and I didn’t really need him to. 

I finish up our game of eight ball and score a pretty easy victory against him. He still has me beat in the overall score, though. The small chat bubble pops up and Tony’s about to share something personal. I hear the small chime on my phone and look at Tony’s text.

_ When my family died, I felt like everyone was out to get me. I threatened people. I hurt people with my actions. It was selfish and harmful and I wish I could take it back. I wanted to right my wrongs, so I found God again. They haven’t been gone for more than three years so the wound’s still fresh. But I really do feel like God has given me a purpose now, a sense of being. It sounds stupid, I know. But I think everyone has that epiphany moment after they lose someone, Peter. Have you had yours yet? _

That’s a pretty open ended question. I don’t even think I had an epiphany moment after my parents died when I was a kid, let alone had one after Uncle Ben. I start to text back and I feel my hands shake as I tell a man that is still technically a stranger to me things I’ve never told anyone else.

_ No. I wish I did tho. I don’t really remember my parents so there’s no real epiphany there. But with my uncle … Idk. I just feel angry all the time. I wanna yell at everyone who tells me how to feel about it. I wanna scream when my aunt cries at veteran commercials. I don’t even really like thinking about him. Sometimes when we text, I get pissed with you because I don’t wanna talk about it but I know I should because I lost at a game or whatever.  _

I don’t have to wait long for a response. Tony is quick to text back a few minutes later as I lay down on my bed, too bored to do anything fun and too careless to do anything productive.

_ I know the feeling, trust me. It gets easier to talk about it the more you do. You start to accept it that way. The anger part took me a long time to progress. But when I found God I think it helped me accept that life has to move on, that I shouldn’t blame other people for my grief.  _

I text back:

_ Are you saying I should become a Bible thumper? LOL _

I wait a while and I feel bad for texting it. It was mean and invasive and Tony’s been nothing but supportive and nice to me the last few days. I open my phone to explain myself but just as I’m about to type, Tony replies.

_ I’m saying you should think about it.  _

-

It’s not Wednesday yet but I’m already meeting Tony for what John called ‘extra meetings.’ Tony was the one to suggest that he pick me up from school today and take me out to eat. I skipped lunch and I’m really hungry and way too nervous. I told May last night about us going out and she smiled sweetly and told me to have fun. I haven’t mentioned to her yet that my counselor is actually the pastor and I don’t plan to. I like Tony. He’s not too pushy for a holy roller and if May found out she’d be scared. She’d probably think Tony’s going to baptise me again. 

I’m seated in the front seat besides Tony as he drives down the street and turns into the outlet. I haven’t been out to eat since Ben was visiting from the war. That was one of the last times I saw May truly happy. My stomach churns just thinking about him and I want to tell Tony that maybe this is going too fast. But I watch as he pulls into a parking space and unlocks my door.

I get out and Tony waits for me before leading the way into the diner. It’s a retro style diner, the ones you find on highways that are open all night and day. A large, life sized ceramic statue of Betty Boop stands in the crowded lobby’s center with red and silver booth seating around the interior. A woman approaches Tony and he tells her to get a booth for two. We’re herded into the left side of the dinner and into a booth with a jukebox bolted where the window should be. Tony hands me a menu and I really don’t want to be here.

“Pete, is everything alright?” Tony asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t know … The last time I did anything like this, I was with my uncle and I just,” I sigh. “It’s weird. I feel weird.”

“Hey, kid,” Tony gives me a warm smile. “It’s alright. I would’ve said no if you didn’t want to be here. We can leave, I won’t be mad.”

“No! That’s uh, no. I want to hang out with you. I’m sorry, sir. Let’s stay.”

“Whatever you say, son,” Tony says.

We go back to searching the menu and I already know Tony will offer to pay. Something about it being a father’s job. I’m sure he gets money from the church but it’s still weird for a grown man to be paying for me. It’s not long before I close my menu, already figuring I’ll just get chicken tenders and fries like every other restaurant I’ve ever been to. A waitress comes not too long after and asks for our drinks and meals. Tony orders a breakfast meal and asks for his eggs to be sunny-side up. I stumble through my order next and hand the waitress our menus. 

“So, Pete. You go to Midtown high in the city, right? How do you usually get from Jersey to school?” 

“Uh, I got in on a scholarship so my bus fares are free. I don’t need to pay the tunnel fee either way. I’m surprised you would come all that way through New York traffic just to get me,” I say.

Tony offered to pick me up yesterday, but when I told him he really shouldn’t, he didn’t take no for an answer. Midtown High School is, appropriately, in Midtown, New York. I got in last year on a science scholarship and so far my high school experience has mostly consisted of spending forty minutes on the bus, morning and afternoon, just to get back to Jersey. It was an annoying consequence of wanting a better education. Plus, after Ben’s death, May refused to let me stay in Hoboken for school. She saw the scholarship as an opportunity for me to move on. 

“I don’t mind, not at all. In fact,” Tony paused after taking a sip of his coffee the waitress had sat down. “Would you like me to take you to school?”

“What? Mr. Stark, that’s like a forty minute trip in the morning because of traffic. You don’t have to do that. I get to ride the bus for free.”

Tony laughed and placed his cup down. “Who wants to spend two hours everyday on the bus? Peter, please let me. Don’t worry about gas or the fee’s. I get paid to hold a weekly sermon at a bishop’s home in Manhattan. I have a prepaid card for the fee’s from the priestess there. It’s really not a huge deal. Besides, I like visiting the big apple. Hate staring at it from little Hoboken.”

I laugh. Tony’s weird but he’s kinda sweet. He’s a lot like Ben. 

“Okay, sure. That’d be awesome, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiles earnestly as multiple plates begin to be placed before us. The waitress wishes us a good meal and heads off, leaving me with a sad looking plate of three tenders and an abundance of fries that were probably frozen just minutes ago. Tony digs into his eggs and bacon and starts the conversation again. He’s good at that, he always knows what to say. He’s really charming. It’s no wonder he’s a pastor.

“It’s not that I hate Hoboken. It’s a nice neighborhood, really. But it feels like it’s living in the shadow of New York, which I guess is kinda true geologically speaking. It’s not even as nice as Jersey City. Well,  _ upper  _ Jersey City. None of that Jersey Shore riff-raff.”

“I hate Hoboken. I hate New Jersey. I like New York. It just feels … better, I guess. I dunno. I hate being stuck here. NYC is so open, so big. Hoboken feels like a rip-off,” I say as I dip a fry into ketchup.

“I like that. Hoboken kinda does feel like a rip-off of New York,” Tony splits open his egg and yoke pours from it.

“May wants me to stay here for college, though. Since it’ll be a lot cheaper. She wants me to go to Stevens Institute of Tech, but I wanna go to Cornell so bad. We went for a school trip last semester. It felt like home more anywhere in Hoboken ever has.”

“Wow, Cornell. That’s an Ivy League school, right? Isn’t it upstate?”

I nod and finish eating the fry. “Yeah but it’s medical science center is in Manhattan, in the Upper East Side. That’s what we visited. It felt like home.”

“I’ve never heard you get so happy about something. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you smile ‘til just now,” Tony laughs.

I feel heat course through my cheeks and I know I’m blushing. I didn’t realize I had been smiling. I watch Tony as he laughs and shakes his head, sipping his coffee. 

“Well, Pete. You’re very smart and I can see you have a bright future. You really do remind me of my boy.”

After that, Tony goes quiet and goes to look out the window but gets greeted with the ancient jukebox instead. I watch his smile fade and I don’t know if I should press the issue or leave it alone. I’m about to leave it alone but then we’d be quiet for way too long so I open my mouth to speak.

“Your son. Uh, what was his name?” I ask.

“Nicholas. My wife’s name was Pepper. They were my everything. Truly,” he says slowly.

I nod and look down at my half eaten plate of chicken. I didn’t mean for this to be awkward. I’ve told Tony a lot about Ben and my parents but his family was always a touchy subject for him. He never avoided my questions about them after our games, but it was obvious he didn’t like being reminded of their deaths. 

“Gosh, I’m so sorry,” Tony says after a few more silent moments. “I didn’t mean to bring the mood down. I just get … so lost in thought when I think about them. I miss them so much. Just like I’m sure you miss Ben. That type of pain … it never really goes away.”

“Yeah,” I say and I actually start to think about Ben. I quickly try to steer my mind elsewhere. I don’t want to think about him in this diner in front of Tony. I haven’t cried since the week he died, and I won’t now. 

“But, you really do remind me of him. Such smart young men you both are.”

I nod and try to push down the food in my throat. “You … you remind me of Ben,” I say.

Why did I say that? It’s the truth but I don’t want to talk about Ben or even think about him right now. But my mouth won’t close and the words won’t stop. Tony has this aura about him that anything I say will be kept private and left unjudged. It’s so easy to forget about not wanting to say anything and just tell him.

“Really?” He asks.

“Yeah. A lot, actually. He was the type of person who looked out for others first. I was always his number one priority. He put everyone else before him and wouldn’t take no for an answer. You’re a lot like that.”

“That’s very kind, Peter. I try to do what I think is right no matter what. In my life, I put everyone ahead of me, and God before them. There’s no room in my life to be selfish.”

I smile and nod as I watch Tony finish his serving of egg and take one last sip of his coffee. He wipes his face with a napkin next to him and I scarf down another third of the fries before piling trash on my plate. 

“Hey, before I drop you off, do you want some ice cream? There’s a new Friendly’s down on sixth street,” Tony says as he scribbles his name on the bill.

I nod and we head out of the diner, away from the Betty Boop statue, the obscured window, and the greasy food, and towards his car. 

-

The next day is another Wednesday, which means the second Father Figure Group Therapy at Our Unity Fellowship of Christ is taking place at four in the afternoon. Tony also took me to school today and picked me up. It was already three by the time we got to Hoboken so we just drove to the church. Tony told me I could wait in the car while he attended the last hour of bible study, but I didn’t want to be alone so now I’m sitting in the same basement on the same wooden bench listening to Reverend John talk about his faith.

“Matthew, one of God’s twelve apostles, told his followers of the Jewish-Christian faith in ‘The Gospel of Matthew’ how God’s children are to be treated if they were to achieve entrance into God’s Heaven,” Reverend John read from a notebook in front of him as he paced the small circle.

Maybe twenty people are crowded in the dank church basement. Some look to be much older, a woman who has to be in her near seventies is sitting directly left of John. While a boy my age sits across from her. There’s kids here, some I recognize from the father figure group. Tony is holding one of the church’s bibles, the pages torn and frayed from probably decades of use. I look over his shoulder, pretending to be interested in the scripture so Reverend John’s eyes don’t land on mine. 

“One of many leading principles in his book can be found in Matthew eighteen, six: ‘For whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.’ This principle is further repeated in ‘The Gospel of Mark.’ Mark nine, forty-two.”

I watch Tony flip to somewhere in the book and see his finger scroll down the page. Sure enough, at the top of the page is the same verse with slightly different grammer. I nudge Tony and he leans down to hear me.

“Why does it say the same thing? Why does it repeat?” I whisper to him.

Tony smiles and clears this throat, loud enough for the entire room to hear. John looks over and Tony waves him down. My heart stops in my chest. Does he not know the answer? It was just a dumb question, he didn’t need to actually answer it.

“Reverend, Peter had a really great question. He asked why the two different parts of the book say the same thing. Can you tell him why?” Tony says.

All eyes are on me and I’m petrified. I force myself to look Reverend John in the eye and he grins wider than the Cheshire Cat. 

“That’s a wonderful question, Mr. Parker! The apostles of God would often repeat each other’s verses to signify importance to that scripture. Less important rules weren’t repeated while the most important ones were. It also gives each apostle’s point of view on the story of creation. So rules found throughout every apostle’s book are considered the most important because it shows that God came to all of them and told them all the same rule. Make sense?”

I nod and try to calm myself down. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as John smiles wide and begins reading the rest of the lesson. Tony besides me grins and I’m almost pissed at him. Why would he announce that to everyone? He had to have known the answer and was just doing it to fuck with me, but why? The rest of the hour goes by quickly and the reverend excuses himself to prepare for the group therapy. Tony pulls me aside before I have a chance to find the bathroom to have a mental cooldown.

“Peter, I know you’re angry,” he says as he ushers me towards the corner of the room. 

“Why would you do that? I didn’t want to be called out. I just asked a dumb question. That was so embarrassing,” I say.

Tony frowns and I start to feel bad. I know he has good intentions but I can’t see a reason why he would do that. “You’re interested in this. I wanted to give you a chance to learn something about this. Thought it might help ease you into things.”

“Tony, you’re really cool and all but I am  _ not  _ interested in your religion. I just asked a question,” I insist.

“If you weren’t interested, you wouldn’t have had asked the question and you certainly wouldn’t have followed me in here.”

I close my mouth. I can’t tell if I want to hit him or run away. I don’t even know how to begin to process this so I sit down on the nearest bench and don’t question it when Tony besides me. His hand clasps my shoulder and I stare straight ahead.

“I’m not threatening you, Pete. I didn’t mean to get snippy either, I just had to say what needed to be said. I was just like you three years ago. I denied my faith for a long time, much longer than I’d like to admit. But it changed my life. Once I finally gave in and accepted God, my world was such a brighter place. I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to. But if you’re interested, why don’t you come to mass this Sunday?”

“No, Mr. Stark I -” 

Tony cuts me off. “I know, I get it. It’s weird and something you’ve never done before. But I’ll be right on stage all morning. I won’t let you out of my sight. And if you get scared, then I’ll take you home right away. No harm done. My feelings won’t be hurt. I understand this life isn’t for everybody.”

“I just,” I sigh and move my head down. “I don’t know. I don’t want to go and end up hating it and let you down. I might  _ hate  _ it, Mr. Stark.”

“Or you might love it. You won’t know until you try it,” Tony says.

I look around the basement and see kids start to pour in with their father figures. John is greeting them at the front and thankfully directing them away from us and towards the food. 

“Let’s make a deal. I win, you go to church this Sunday. You win, you don’t have to go and I won’t ask you about it ever again. Whoever has the most games won in eight ball by Saturday night wins. Deal?”

“No way, you’re really good at eight ball,” I joke.

Tony laughs. “Okay, fine. How about darts?”

I look up at him. I’ve only known for a week, but I know he wouldn’t want me to do something that isn’t right for me. He’s not a bad Christian. In fact, he might be the best one I’ve ever met.

“Deal.”

-

I tried my best to win every game of darts we played for the next four days. We play a lot everyday and the loser still has to tell something personal after. Tony tells me a lot about his past before he started going to church. He mostly watched over his family and worked as an engineer for a mechanical appliance company in Jersey City. He lost the job a month after his family died when he stopped showing up. 

_ It was a great job. Good pay, decent hours, respectful people. But it was all too much for me. I stopped going when they died. I used the insurance money and welfare from the government to live. I had no way of getting there everyday, either. My car was totalled in the wreck and I didn’t have money to buy a new one. So even if I wanted to go to work, I couldn’t. _

Tony told me yesterday his son and wife were killed in a car accident. He asked about Ben and I told him about the explosion at his base. He called me after that and we talked on the phone for a while. I’ve never told anyone how Ben died. Having someone to actually talk to about it was nice. 

We were pretty much neck and neck until Saturday afternoon when Tony texted me three consecutive games and won each one of them. Now it’s already nine at night and it’s pretty clear I’ve lost. I get a text from Tony.

_ I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow. Maybe we can go out to eat after? _

I groan. I tried winning, I seriously did. Now I have to go to church and sit in a huge room full of strangers talking about stuff I don’t understand. I reply back.

_ Wait. Don’t you have to dress fancy for church? I don’t know if I have anything like that. _

Tony:  _ Yup, Sunday best. It’s not too fancy, though. Kinda more like business casual. Your Midtown High slacks and a polo would be fine.  _

I roll over on my bed to text Tony goodnight now that I have to wake up early. I set an alarm on my phone and plug it in the charger before turning off the light. What will May think? What would Ben think? 

-

I’m sitting in Tony’s car at nine in the morning wearing my school uniform pants and a white button down I managed to find in my closet. We’re silent on the ride there and my legs bounces with anxiety. I keep my eyes glued to my phone as Tony drives and pulls onto Clinton Street. “You nervous?” Tony asks.

“Terrified,” I admit.

He chuckles and leans over to pat my shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, Pete. Just remember, if you want to go home, you just ask and we will.”

“But won’t you be in the middle of talking?”

“Reverend John will take over if need be. Please don’t let that scare you. If you need anything during it, just say it and it’ll get taken care of,” Tony says. “You look nice, by the way.”

“Uh, thanks. You look,” I look over at his unusual outfit and tilt my head. “Different?”

Tony’s wearing a long black shirt that flares out at the hips and falls to his ankles. It almost looks like a dress with black suit pants underneath. The collar of the shirt looks like it’s cut out and underneath is a white under-shirt. Golden buttons go down the shirt until it cuts down the middle, showing the pants.

“Ah, yeah. I probably look pretty silly right now. These are clerical robes. Lots of pastors wear them as street clothes but I only wear mine to services and keep my everyday wardrobe simple. It might look stupid, but the dry cleaning bill for this thing is no joke.”

I laugh and watch Tony pull into the parking lot of the church. “No offense, but it totally looks like a dress.”

Tony pulls into a parking space with a sign posted above it, ‘Clergymen Parking Only.’ 

“None taken, son.”

-

Tony’s good at keeping people awake and energized in what’s supposed to be a boring service. His voice booms off the elevated walls of the temple and his laughs feel genuine. He jokes with John and three other clergymen I don’t recognize and asks one to play the piano as he leads his people in prayer. Some sing the hymns, others dance, and the kids run around the pews and screech the lyrics as they race each other. I sit in the front like Tony told me to and watch as he sings the hymn without a book.

_ On a hill far away / stood an old rugged cross. The emblem of suffering / and shame. And I loved that old cross / where the dearest and best / for a world of lost sinners was slain. So I'll cherish the old rugged cross / till my trophies at last I lay down / and I will cling to the old rugged cross / and exchange it someday for a crown.  _

Once the hymns are over, Tony steps up to the altar and smiles. “Good morning, everyone,” he starts.

Everyone in the room says it back and I feel stupid for not doing so. Tony gestures around the room from behind the altar. 

“I’d like everyone to take the time to greet the person next to you. I don’t care if you’ve never seen that man or woman in your life, or if they’re your best friend. Say good morning. Bless them. Ask about their family. We all should spread the love this morning.”

It’s at this point where I mentally freeze. The room erupts into talkative chatter as the church-goers greet each other. I’m in the front pew and the only person closest to me is a little girl in a pink dress talking to her father. The family is a few feet away so I don’t interrupt and let them talk. I scoot closer to the pew’s end and feel a hand grasp my shoulder. I look up to see Tony giving me a reassuring smile. 

“I wouldn’t make you talk to someone you didn’t know. I’m here, Peter. It’s going to be okay,” he says.

“So, what’s next after this?” I ask.

“We’ll pass the offering bowl around while I greet everyone again. Then we start communion and after that, I preach your head off for a while. Anybody who feels inclined to speak at the altar after can do so. Then I end it with prayer. Pretty simple.”

“Communion? What’s that?”

“It’s a special ceremony where anyone who wants to can eat a piece of bread and drink from a goblet of wine. It signifies consuming the body and blood of Christ, spiritually of course,” Tony chuckles.

I cringe and shake my head. “Uh, I think I’ll pass on that.”

“Good. Because the bread is stale and awful. But I have to eat it every week or I look like a heretic,” Tony keeps the jokes coming.

I laugh with him and maybe this isn’t so bad. The people seem nice and Tony sounds so happy when he’s talking about his faith. The music is entertaining and I haven’t been urged to confess or be baptised yet. Tony leaves to go back to the altar where he begins the communion. I watch as a dozen or so people stand in line to take a piece of bread from one clergyman and then drink from a large glass Reverend John is holding. After ten minutes, everyone sits back down for Tony to begin his actual service. I feel a sudden tap on my shoulder and I know it’s not Tony this time. I hastily turn around to see an older man, maybe in his thirties, smiling at me. 

“You’re Pastor Stark’s father figure kid, right? I saw you at this week’s meeting. Just wait ‘till he starts preaching. Feels like he’s conjuring the words from God Himself,” the man states.

I nod and fake a smile. Once I’m settled, Tony begins to speak. “Today, in this holy space of the Lord, we want to thank our Almighty God for the wonderful blessings upon our lives. We thank Him for the love that He has shown to us through His son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen,” the people around me echo.

“I’d like to give the time we have today not only to God and His grace, but also to our loved ones. Before you are likely people you’ve shared your life with. People you’d do anything for. People you’d die protecting. People who’d die protecting you. But God doesn’t always have a future planned for your loved ones. God’s plan may be to take them home, to the great Heaven above, long before it’s your due time.”

Tony pauses and the weight of his words weigh down on the church. I can feel people eyeing him, watching him pace the length of the altar as he preaches.

“And when we have these loved ones taken from us, we show fear. We cry, we go through pain unimaginable to any other creature not of this Earth. We carry burdens. And for many of us, the painful weight of these burdens crash down in ways we never wanted. We curse His name. We doubt His grace, His plan. We cry to a God we believe doesn’t love us.”

My throat hitches on a gulp. Tony’s talking about his grief and in an obscure way, mine.

“But God does love you, children! God loves each and every single one of us. But in our pain we don’t sense it. We don’t feel His love trying to shelter us. We’re blind to the feeling of the Almighty. We hurt too much. And I know because I’ve been in this position before. I’ve felt this pain. I’ve carried this burden. I let it crash down and smother me in disbelief and guilt. I’ve cursed God once. I hated Him once. But not anymore.”

Tony pounds his foot on the altar. A few people, mostly the older women, jump from the startling sound. 

“I let His love pour into me. I let Him take away that burden. I finally gave into the power of God’s love. I found, in Him, salvation. I found ascension. I found glory!”

“Hallelujah!” The church roars.

“You all have the power within you to find Him. You all can see through the dark. You all can believe. My friends, people with God and people without: We are all the same. For in both ignorance and worship, does God love us all. We are all on the path to our own salvation and glory. He will guide us there. Love from Him knows no bounds. Amen.”

“Amen,” I find myself saying back.

-

After the service, Tony drives me back home. We’re only minutes away from my house when he speaks in a nervous voice, one I’ve never heard him use before.

“I feel really embarrassed to be honest. How was your first service? Did anybody try to talk to you when I wasn’t around?” Tony asks.

I shake my head. I’m not going to tell him about the guy who told me about his preachings. “No, no one talked to me. And it was fine, I think you did great. It was very … honest. You looked really happy up there. You always do when you talk about God.”

Tony smiled and nodded as he turned on my street. “Thank you, Peter. And thank you for going. I know we had that bet and all, but if you really didn’t want to go I wouldn’t have made you. It means a lot that you went.”

He pulls into my driveway and I almost cuss out loud. Aunt May is heading out the door for work at the exact same time. She slings her purse over her shoulder and freezes when she sees me sitting in a strange man’s car. I head out first, hoping to try and reason with her. 

“Hey, May. Uh, I just got back from a meeting with my partner from the group therapy thing,” I stumble my way through the lie. 

I see Tony come up to May shake her hand. She keeps looking between each of us and studies Tony’s robes. It’s only early Spring, but I can feel bullets of sweat drip down my face and back. This can only end one way. I want to run and hide and never talk to her again. 

“Hello, Mrs. Parker. I’m Pastor Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure meeting you. Your nephew has told me a lot about you. You work at the homeless shelter in Jersey City, right? I’m sure you’re headed on your way there now,” Tony introduces himself.

“Hi, I was,” May starts. “Wow, I didn’t know Peter got paired up with the pastor. And you guys just -”

“Returned from service? Yes,” Tony finishes.

This is the worst thing that has happened in my life since Ben died. Or rather it’s a close second to when Flash stole my clothes during gym and forced me to walk to the gym office in my underwear. Tony flashes May a charming smile and each second of this makes me want to roll over and die.

“I should really get going. I promised Reverend John I’d help with Sunday school today. Peter, I’ll see you tomorrow for school. I’m sorry we couldn’t get something to eat after. But I’ll text you tonight. Goodbye, Mrs. Parker. It was nice meeting you.”

He walks to his car and waves a final goodbye to May and I. And just like that, Tony’s gone. I don’t know what to expect from my aunt. Probably a gut wrenching scream or a broken, manic laugh, or straight up silence. But I feel her pull me close and hold me. I can smell her shampoo and feel her cotton shirt rub on my sweat ridden face. When she finally pulls away, I can see she’s crying. 

“May, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you he was the pastor. I should’ve told you I was going to church. I didn’t really want to, it was a bet I lost. I promise I won’t go back,” I lie.

Church with Tony was actually fun. I enjoyed myself and I loved hearing him talk about God. I don’t know if He’s really out there or not, but Tony’s words make me kind of hope He is.

May shakes her head and lets the tears roll down her face. “It’s fine. I’m not angry. Jesus, Peter. You’re so much like Ben.”

She kisses my cheek and goes to her car without another word. I watch her stare at me, smiling and crying, as she drives down the street.

-

Yesterday was the third Sunday service I’ve been to with Tony. The last few weeks have flown by. Tony still picks me up everyday for school and we’ve started a tradition of eating out on Saturday nights. The other day’s restaurant was Chili’s and he plans to take me to get sushi next weekend. It’s now Monday night and May is on the phone with someone speaking in a hushed whisper. She comes back to the dinner table and places her head in her hands. 

“May?” I ask.

“My cousin just passed away. Lung tumor. Wow, shit,” she says while staring at her untouched food.

I nod and watch as she runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to the funeral. It’s this Sunday. But they’re all the way out in Michigan so I’ll have to get there at least the day before, maybe even Friday if I want to see his family.”

“I’ll go,” I tell her.

“You absolutely will not. You’re staying here. I just got off the phone with Tony. If you’d like, he’s able to stay here for the weekend with you.”

“May, I’ll go. Please, I don’t want you to go alone.”

May shakes her head. “No, and that’s final. You do not want to go to another funeral so soon after Ben … Trust me, Peter. I’ve been through that experience. It just brings all that pain back. You’re staying here.”

I roll my eyes as she pulls out her phone. I should’ve never given her Tony’s number last week. Now that I know she calls him, she probably tells him about all of our arguments or, God forbid, about my childhood. I keep eating as she walks across the room to grab her purse, pulling out her wallet.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Booking a plane ticket. I’ll have to get this sorted out now if I plan on going. Shit. I’ll take this as another excuse to quit smoking,” she says as she types in her pin.

Once my food is gone, I go into my room and do something I’ve only ever done at church. I get on my knees and pray. I pray May’s okay while she’s in Michigan. I pray her cousin I’ve never met can get into Heaven or whatever version of it he practiced. I text Tony and we talk about it until I go to bed. Tony told me he prayed for him, too. I wonder if God can hear a prayer more clearly if two people pray for it, or if the messages collide and fall apart. 

-

May hurriedly pulls her overstuffed suitcase down the stairs as I help her with her carry-on bag. Tony opens the door for her and I follow suit, placing both in the taxi’s trunk. She kisses me on the cheek and I blush. Really, May? In front of Tony? Tony gives her a quick hug and she lowers herself into the taxi seat.

“Peter, I love you. Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone. As long as Tony’s in the house, he’s in charge,” she says.

Tony laughs. “You can count on me, May.”

“I love you,” I say. “Did you pack cigarettes?”

“Nope. Scout’s honor,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow at her as Tony starts retreating into the house.

“Pete, I promise. I’m really gonna quit this time.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

May smirks and rolls her eyes playfully. After a minute, she smiles wide at me and it makes me warm. 

“God, you’re such a good kid. If Ben could see you now … He’d be so proud of you. With school and science and now going to church. You get more and more like him everyday.”

I lean down through the window to kiss her forehead and tell her one last goodbye before the taxi drives away. I walk back into the housed and lock the door behind me. Tony’s sitting down on the couch and I sit next to him. There’s some old crime show on and we half heartedly watch it for a few minutes before Tony speaks.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Hmm?” I reply.

Tony sits up. “You know how at church we do communion? Where we eat bread and drink wine?”

“Yeah, why?” I ask.

“Well, I was thinking … Maybe you could try that out.”

I shrug my shoulders after giving it a moment of thought. “I mean, sure. But didn’t you say that the bread is gross anyway?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, not try it at church. I mean trying it here. The bread from Unity Fellowship is stale, the wine is practically watered down grape extract. I brought much better bread and wine. Here.”

Tony gets up and goes over to his overnight bag he placed on the kitchen table only an hour ago. He comes back with a full, unopened bottle of wine and a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic. I stare as he sets the objects down on the coffee table. 

“Doesn’t the wine and bread have to be purified? Or blessed?” I question.

“Not necessarily. Even if it does, we can call this a practice run. Just so you feel more comfortable eating it in a few days,” Tony begins to unwrap the bread from it’s plastic.

I sit up and watch as he unearths the loaf, a small personal sized bakery made bread. It looks good. The wine is a deep red color and the outer wrapping is gold and white, with italicized writing I can’t read. 

“I dunno, Mr. Stark. I’ve never had wine before. It’s basically alcohol, right?”

“Yeah, but only a really small amount. Most people could drink half the bottle and barley be buzzed. Wine’s not real alcohol like beer and liquor is. Plus, it tastes way better.”

Tony sits back down on the couch and rips off a piece of bread. He grabs the wine bottle and uses something on his keys to uncork it. He tosses the cork on the coffee table where it lands next to the now torn loaf.

“So, you’ve seen it done in church, right? You’ll go up to Reverend William to grab a thin slice of bread. Like this,” Tony holds out the bread for me to take.

I grab the piece of bread and Tony beams. “Okay, good. And when you eat it, he’ll tell you that you’re now consuming the body of Christ. So, go ahead. Eat it.”

I do and it tastes delicious. I nod my head and smile. “This is probably way better than those little wafers they give out at Unity Fellowship.”

Tony laughs. “Trust me, it’s miles better. So now that you’ve eaten the body of Christ, you’ll move onto Reverend John. You’ll go up to him to drink the wine. This,” Tony holds the bottle in both hands now and lifts it up for me to drink it. “Drink some of it.”

I lean forward to drink it from the bottle and swallow the amount I managed to get in. It tastes like a mixture between cough syrup and grapes. It’s thick and rich with this strange flavor. Tony places the bottle down on the coffee table.

“Good, right?” He asks.

I nod. “Yeah, really good. It tastes better than beer.”

“You’ve had beer before?”

“Uncle Ben was messing around with me as a kid. He let me have a sip of his beer at a party and it was disgusting. But this is way better,” I say.

He chuckles. “I always hated beer, too. You’re welcome to have more of it if you’d like.”

I grab the bottle and look at the French words. “Really?”

“Sure, be my guest,” Tony says as he gestures to the bottle.

I take a big gulp of the wine and balance it on my lap. “Isn’t this supposed to be the blood of Christ? Why’s that?”

“Communion is so even outside of worship, you carry Him with you. The bread and wine is apart of Him. Eating it means you’re taking a piece of God with you until the following week.” 

I nod as I stare down the bottle. “Yeah, that makes sense. Do you want any?”

“Oh no, thanks. You can keep it. I’m full from your aunt’s cooking. She’s a great cook, by the way,” Tony says as he begins to rewrap the loaf. 

I take another swig of the wine and try to look for an ingredient I recognize in the endless jumble of French. I can’t find any so I keep drinking and soon Tony is back and is now putting on a movie. I start to watch it with him as I drink and after a while, I start to forget what exactly it is we’re watching. I can remember there being a boy with some disorder and his friend being normal. They go to some school together but nothing else is really making any sense. I tap Tony on the shoulder to get his attention.

“What’s the little boy’s name again?” I ask.

Tony points at the disabled boy on the screen. “That’s Simon Birch. His friend is Joe.”

“And what are they doing?”

“Well,” Tony starts. “Simon is about to ruin the Catholic school’s play. Remember, he’s playing baby Jesus because he’s a dwarf. And he’s trying to find his biological dad.”

I furrow my brows at the TV. Since when was this movie about finding that boy’s dad? I watch a bizarre scene go down where Simon tries to grab a girl’s boobs on stage. It causes a chain of catastrophic events that led the play to being ruined. Tony laughs at the film but I don’t see what’s so funny. I take another drink of the bottle and feel my heart pound in my ears. I reach up to feel my head and the sudden movement makes me extremely nauseous.

“Mr. Stark … I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

Tony calmly pauses the movie and looks at me. He’s looking at me weird, almost like he feels bad for me. Maybe I really am sick. I lay down on the couch and push the half empty wine bottle on the coffee table but I think I hear it drop to the floor. I can’t turn my head to look because of the blood rushing through it. I bring both hands up to cover my face.

“Peter, I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” Tony says.

I remove my hands to look at him. He looks so sad, like he’s upset I’m getting sick. I squint through the haze and watch as he picks up the wine bottle and places it back on the table. I nod my head yes but even that movement hurts.

“You’re very drunk. But you’re going to be okay. Just listen to my voice, alright?”

“Bu-but, you said I wouldn’t get drunk,” I protest.

“Peter. Listen to my voice. Don’t move.”

I don’t protest because I don’t think I’d have the strength to. I close my eyes and try to focus on sleeping. Maybe if I go to bed, this feeling will go away. I can feel weight being pressed on me and I don’t like feeling trapped. I open my eyes and see Tony staring at me from only inches away. I try to move but everything feels like it’s stuck in slow motion.

“Mr. Stark? What’s happening?”

He doesn’t respond. His face looks so sad. I don’t understand. Why won’t he get up?

“Mr. Stark, please get off. I’m gonna puke. Why’re you looking at me like that?” I ask.

“God help me,” Tony says as he starts to cry. “Father in Heaven … I’m sorry.”

I try again to push him off but he won’t budge. I try slithering out under him, but his weight on my shoulders keeps me grounded. Before I can say anything else, Tony’s lips collide with mine. I try to pull back and yell but he holds me in place. It’s not until his lips have left mine can I say anything.

“Get off me. Right now, get off! Get off me!” I yell but the noise hurts my head.

Tony closes his eyes and I can feel his hands slide down my chest and push themselves into my pants. This can’t be happening. Not like this. Not with him. I resist but he keeps pushing them in until his bare hand grabs my groin. I cringe and gasp as his hand stops right there and rests. He opens his eyes kisses me again. He goes back to rubbing the base of my dick. It feels awful. This is wrong. This is  _ wrong. _

“Please … please stop,” I beg.

Tony won’t stop kissing and sucking on my neck and lips. He manages to pull out my entire member and starts stroking its full length. I sob at the friction and desperately try to wiggle out. But my head is so fogged and I feel like I can hardly move at all. My stomach does loops as it threatens to release its contents. 

Tony tries stroking me until I’m hard but I can’t. My body is frozen, my mind’s trying to dissociate from reality by making me think of times with Uncle Ben. He flips me on my side and I can feel him lay down behind me. I can feel him push down my pants until they’re all the way off. I feel him struggle to the same with his own pants with the limited room behind me.

“Oh, God. Forgive me. Peter, you just look so much like Nicholas.”

My body tells me to try and run and when I try, it can’t even move my arm enough to push his hand off of me. My mind tells me to escape and I do. I’m taken back to a better time. One with Ben and May when they were happy. We’re at the New York Zoo and May is buying me a hat in the shape of an elephant and Ben is making elephant noises while he buys himself a leopard hat. I can’t tell if this memory is even real or if it’s a manifestation from my mind from keeping my thoughts away from Tony’s warm body pressing against mine.

I feel him enter me and my body convulses at the strange, unpleasant pain. I choke back tears as he thrusts in and out of me. Each thrust takes me to a new memory, or a new fake memory. I can see baseball games and birthday parties and Christmases and barbeques. I’m pulled out of my dreamstate when I hear Tony starting to cry again behind me.

“Oh, God in Heaven. Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” he says as he continues to rape me.

I try to move my hands but all the strength I can muster only amounts to a gentle slap on his thigh. I try again but my body’s near full shutdown mode. All I can move is my head.

“Stop. Please, stop. Pl-please,” I try but my voice is hardly even a whisper.

“Oh, Peter. I’m sorry. I, ah,” Tony says as he thrusts into me again. “I just,  _ fuck.  _ Every time I see you, all I can think about is my boy. I see him in you so much. And when you started going to church with me, it was almost like I had my baby back. My child.”

Tony is sobbing more than I am. His tears falls onto my shoulder and neck as he pounds into me over and over again. He pulls me close and I can feel his dick shove itself all the way to his hilt. I cry out at the pain.

“I miss him so much, Peter. He was just fifteen, he’d just gotten his learner’s permit. He, he, he,” Tony tries to speak but his tears overcome him.

I have no strength left to fight or speak. I let him continue to rape me before he’s trying to finish talking again.

“They said the accident made no sense. There wasn’t traffic or a speeder or an animal in the road. He’d just somehow drove into the wrong lane. How does that even happen? That’s, ah, not possible.”

He keeps pressing into me at the same pace. He’s going so slow and it hurts so much. I let silent tears fall on the couch as he uses my shoulder as leverage and grabs it to enter into me deeper.

“I used to … I used to touch him. Like this. I’d been doing it for a year before the accident and I started to wonder … What if he drove into the wrong lane on purpose, Peter? What if he wanted to get away from me? Why would he leave me? Why would he take his mother with him? Why would God do this to me? Why?” Tony cries.

Tony starts to rape me harder, his breath hitches and I can hear an extended groan. Within a few more thrusts, he’s coming inside of me. He breathes out and pulls his member out of me. I feel him pull his pants up and then pull mine. He wraps both arms around me and holds me tight. It’s suffocating. He’s holding on so tight. Like I’m his life preserver in the sea of sins he’s committed.

“Oh, Lord in Heaven. Please forgive me for my sins. For I am a sinner. Come unto me and cleanse me of my wrongdoings. I believe in you and in salvation and glory through the body of Christ. I turn from sin and trust in Christ alone as my savior. In His name I pray,” Tony prays.

I can feel one of his many tears drip from my cheek down to my neck, mixing with my own. 

“Amen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, my first actual stand alone with more than only 5k words. I really hope you guys liked it. This prompt sparked something in me months ago and I'm so glad I managed to finish it. Comment below, leave kudos, and if you're interested in darker fiction involving Starker please check out my other works 'Darkness Lives Here' and 'Idée Fixe.'


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